“Aren’t you a little young for that?” he asks, and for a moment I don’t know what he means. Then I freeze. Does he take me for some groupie who wants to get into his hotel room?
I open my mouth but can’t get a single word out.
“Are you even eighteen? Anyway, I need another whisky.” He leans against the bar. “Make it a double,” he calls to the barman, who nods curtly. His voice doesn’t sound at all like I remember it. His eyes wander over me and I want to get out of here. I don’t want him to be my father. I don’t want him to be drinking in a filthy pub, playing for a handful of people who look just as fucked up as him. This isn’t the Jacob Wiley I’ve been imagining, the one who played me lullabies on his guitar and promised that I could come with him on his next big tour.
Then he looks me over, and I feel my stomach clench.
“Dad...” I mumble, and I hate the pleading note in my voice. “It’s me.”
I have no idea if he even heard me. At least not until something in his expression changes. He leans forward slightly. “Emma?” he asks, so incredulous that I want to cry. “Fuck, it is you, isn’t it?”
I just nod in silence.
“God, why didn’t you say something right away? I didn’t even recognize you. You’re so fuckin’ grown-up, Biscuit.”
Biscuit. It’s just a nickname, and a really crappy one at that, but the casual way he says it gives me goose bumps. Because I’d forgotten he used to call me that.
I don’t know what’s happening as he pushes himself away from the bar and comes toward me. I don’t know if I want him to hug me. I did want that just now, but I’m not sure anymore. I force myself not to flinch as he puts his arms around me. I can smell a mixture of alcohol, cigarettes, and sweat, but I can’t smell him. He doesn’t smell the way I remember.
“What’re ye doing here? Fuck, you’re tall.” I can hear the slur in his speech.
“I was in the area,” I manage to answer him. “And I hoped we’d be able to talk.”
He laughs. “Course we can. But not here. This isn’t the kind of place my daughter oughta hang around in. I know somewhere nearby. We can get something to eat. You hungry? It’s on me, Biscuit.”
I’m not hungry. My stomach is a tiny ball of fear, and it shrinks even more as my dad turns to one of the women in a group a few meters away. “Lou, I’ll be back later to clear up.”
All she says is “Aye, right...” with a dismissive wave. Her eyes run over me, and I feel kind of dirty.
I stand there in silence as my dad grabs his jacket and points to the door.
“What d’ye think of the gig?” he asks, once we’re outside. There are still a few people standing around by the doors, but nobody pays any attention to us.
“It was great,” I say, because I have to say something.
My dad laughs. “Loada fuckin’ bores. But hey, this is Glasgow. Lousy shitehole.”
I say nothing. Why doesn’t he ask what I’m even doing here? Why I’m not at home. In Frankfurt. With Mum. There’s no way he can know that I’m at school here. Isn’t he interested?
I spot Henry across the road, leaning on a wall. Our eyes meet, and I feel him scanning my face for signs that everything’s OK. So I give a slight nod. I’d like to tell him where we’re going, but I don’t even know. I can only hope that Henry will follow us. I seriously hope so.
“Oh, fuck,” says my father. “Got a light?”
“No, I... I don’t smoke.”
His eyes slide over to me. “What a good girl! You really are Laura’s daughter, aren’t you?”
I don’t know if he’s expecting an answer. He sounds more American than I remember him. I suppose that’s not surprising, considering how long he lived in California. Somehow he sounded friendlier with a Scottish accent, but maybe that’s just my imagination.
I wait as he talks to a group coming toward us. Two young men just give him a skeptical look and walk on without a word, but a woman stops and gives him a light and a cigarette too.
My dad mumbles his thanks as we move on again. He drags on the filter and blows the smoke out into the night. “So where’s the wee friend who was with you just now?”
So he did notice us come in, then. We were the youngest people in that pub by a long way, so maybe that was why we stood out to him, even if he didn’t recognize his own daughter standing right in front of him.
“He’s waiting nearby.” And then I decide just to tell him about Henry and my life. “His name’s Henry, and we know each other from school. I’m on a year abroad at Dunbridge Academy.”
I think it’s the first time he’s properly looked at me. “You’re at that posh dump?” He laughs a deep, droning laugh, and I want to put my hands over my ears. “God, did she actually send you there? Your mother’s insane.”
